The Final Hunt
by Blind Loyalty
Summary: PostDH The horrors were supposed to be over. A mounting body count said otherwise. School was dedicated to saving their kind and yet now something had dug itself up from the past to raise hell. A war was over but the stench of death and blood was rising.


TO BE FAIR it should have been stormy. The sky filled with snarling and crackling lightening accompanied by wall-trembling booms. A perfect atmosphere could have been set so simply by a simple downpour and sizzling electricity exploding from heavy black clouds. It would have been perfect, too, for there to have been some sort of band. Melancholy, deep and rich. Filled with sonorous bass drums that squeezed the diaphragm coupled with a quicker pace reminiscent of a pulse. Properly done it should freeze the tongue to the back of the throat and caused breathing to be short, panicked, laboured. It would have been banged out in a most serious mien. This sort of entrance deserved rich, soaring theme music, an orchestra to speak more foreboding and forbidding sense than what greeted the eye.

Tonight needed a storm of storms, an outcry and outpouring of ancient gods and upset tremulous magic. A proper sky would be rending itself senseless, howling its fury, ripping tortured air to burnt atoms. Magic might even be chaotic, were it to cooperate with the rest of nature, feverishly charging its own furiously merry way. Unspeakable horrors and unmentionable delights echoed the Great Hall with the empty vacuous buzz of weighty silence.

The day had been awash in light, the snowpack glimmering and glinting. No indication had been given that anything was out of hand. A blue, crisp sky with a bare wisp of distant cloud. Bracing fresh wind whipped wild over waterfront. There had been motes of crystalline snow tumbling this way and that whenever the wind threw itself one way or another. Such had faded into a blanketed navy twilight and then an open black sky speckled with glinting stars. The carved landscape was a picturesque frame for the four-storey castle perched in the distance. Closer up one could see glimmering candles flitting behind frosty panes of leaded glass.

Nor was there any music. Even the sounds of many bodies gathered in close proximity was ceased. There was no audible breath save for the sharp collective initial inhalation. All clattering, shifting and chatting ended abruptly. No sign, no comment was given; the doors to the Hall had simply opened with a resounding crash. A figure draped in furs and worn leathers came striding in. Every stride drew the eye for no reason except something about it commanded respect. A fierceness emanated from deep within the hairy wrappings. Instinct was apparently in overdrive; no steps made a sound.

All eyes watched the vaguely human-shaped figure walk up the entry way towards the Head Table. Old leather boots, bound in huntsman-style, were the only things discernable about the person underneath. They stopped in the middle of the room; two shapes, low to the ground and as furry as the newcomer, bolted over. Each stood on either side, seeming to guard the person they were with. Everyone flinched backwards as one, hoping that the beasts were dogs and knowing deep in their primitive brain that they were fooling themselves. One was black with a gold-brown undercoat poking through at the scruff, muzzle and coating the paws to the ankles. The second was white with dark silver-grey starting at the ears and running down either side of the spine to the tail. A simple gesture of the figure's arm had both sitting, tongues lolling as alert eyes took in the surroundings.

It wasn't often Durmstrang received such a guest. With mostly curious looks and some fear in the expressions of about half the Professors, the deputy Headmaster stood slowly. The middle-aged wizard beside him simply sat in a dark, writhing chair of ancient wood, eyes piercing and glowering the newcomer in their midst into submission.

When it spoke, the voice was snarled and guttural, yet with a cultured accent flavouring each word. The tongue and lips almost tripped amongst the syllables and syntax that hadn't been used for too many years.

"I have trained dragons," the figure began, "fought beasts, hunted fiends." With each statement, there was a step closer, a gesticulation of finality and emphasis. "I fought in a war, rebuilt a society. I have slain and been wounded, I have hunted and killed. I wandered through the best and the worst, drifted through woods, stalked over rivers."

A slight smile was tugging on the lips of the Headmaster. His fingers were steepled, his focus intent. Amusement and a near pride were evident. His deputy was absolutely beaming at this fierce woodland creature. Bedecked in fur, flanked by wolves, more cynical and even fiercer by life's trials. It was much to have hoped for yet hope had won out the day.

"But no challenge," came the rasp, "could have prepared me, for you asking me to teach."

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><p><em>A new fic. Moon fans, if you're reading this one too, plz don't be angry I'm doing something different. I've been mulling this one over in my head for awhile, but its still just taking shape. Be patient. Its going to be written differently from CDtM, and is in some ways similar, others very different. I'm keeping this one teen for now, even though there's going to be gore; I don't think it will go so far as to become mature, but who knows with me! This is unedited, will probably be fixed up in the future, I'd just like some feedback if possible, and to know how people stand on something *completely* original within the world of HP.<em>

_BL_


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